The Games We Play, the People We Lose
by Maryam25
Summary: Oliver left Starling City almost 4 years ago. But when there is an accident and someone he loves is now lying in a hospital, fighting for her life, he has no choice but to return. She may be someone else's wife and a mother, but she is still very much a part of him. Thanks for reading. Enjoy :)
1. Chapter 1

Author's note:

Hey everyone! This is just something I've been think about lately. It takes place mostly in the future with a flashback to four years ago – around the time the show is in presently. But, none of the events post 3x14 have occurred (though that may change) for the sake of the story. Enjoy.

**The Games We Play, the People We Lose**

_It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. ~Alfred Lord Tennyson_

Chapter One

As a general rule, these days he tastes of orange tic-tac's and his favourite imported roast – it was _her_ favourite first.

Tossing back mints three at a time, to keep his mouth busy – drinking cup after cup to stop from drowning in his own thoughts – if he can't keep his hands otherwise occupied.

_His_ days of vigilantism in Starling City are long over. Though Team Arrow – minus the Arrow – is still going strong, working side by side with the SCPD to keep the streets clean and the city safe – who knew the day would _actually_ come?

At least that's what he's been told. That's what Diggle says when they occasionally speak on the phone; it's what Roy will pass on when he sends him an email once every six months.

But Oliver knows this – knows it all. Because he may have left Starling in the physical sense, but he is still very much there.

His head is very much there, looking in on his family, his friends – making sure they aren't in danger.

His heart – it is fair to say that Oliver Queen left his heart in Starling City because he doesn't believe in holding onto things that aren't his. And Oliver's heart hasn't belonged to him for a long time.

The thing is, Oliver will never stop worrying about _her_.

Thea has Roy and…Malcom.

And _she _has Roy and Diggle and…_him – Ray_. But even that is not enough.

He will never stop caring, never be less uneasy about her well-being and her safety.

It isn't in his nature.

It doesn't work like that – not when you love somebody, not when thoughts of her consume you day in and day out – when all you can think of is how she used to smile when your eyes met through the glass of the office walls. Or how relief would flood her gaze when you'd make your way back down the stairs after an evening patrol – still standing, in one piece.

He thinks that some part of him had hoped that their relationship would run its course – a few enjoyable victory laps around the track – and that they would then amicably part ways – Felicity and Ray.

Sure, he knew they had hit it off – he had _seen_ them after all, had unintentionally been privy to an intimate moment or two. But he never really thought…that it would go so far…?

It's hypocritical of him, not to mention selfish – he knows. Either way, his intentions _were_ sincere; there is no denying that.

It was strange.

It was a strange feeling – a slow, stinging burn that transformed into a chill in his veins.

When he came to the realization that Ray Palmer would be good for her.

Would be good _to_ her.

When Oliver could ascertain that he was indeed a good choice for Felicity. An excellent choice.

However, absence does make the heart grow fonder (and fonder yet). Time doesn't heal all wounds. And the yearning never subsides.

The course of true love never did run smooth. (Which is all the Shakespeare he probably remembers from freshman English, but how true it is, he appreciates.)

He never afforded himself a glance at future outcomes – at the happenings of the now that would manifest in the consequences of later. Thinking about it now, it hits him like a tornado, uprooting his entire being and throwing him on his head.

He'd had the wind knocked out of him on numerous occasions, but nothing came even close to the likes of _that_ blow.

That day is etched into memory, outlined in permanent marker and then very deeply – expertly – filled in.

Everything changed after that.

Everything.

_*4 years ago*_

He had been training all day – it was a Saturday – trying to get out of his head, leaving his thoughts lagging behind. So far, he hadn't been successful.

Lyla had called earlier to invite him to dinner. He appreciated the gesture, but he politely declined, feigning prior engagement.

It was their first care-free Saturday in a while and he didn't want to impose on the already too limited family time the Diggles had. And truthfully, he just didn't have the energy – was burned out.

It was then that his phone rang.

Oliver wasn't one for customized ringtones and specialized alerts, but nevertheless he knew who his caller was.

"Right on cue Diggle," he started without preamble.

"Oliver. Anything I can do to change your mind about tonight?"

"You know John, if I can hit the sack later, it would probably work in everyone's favour."

He paused before continuing, "It's been a little difficult lately…"

The rest of his sentence went unfinished; he didn't need to elaborate, after all it was John on the other end.

He could almost hear Diggle's understanding nod through the line.

"Sarah just wanted me to check on her uncle _Owiva_. You know where we are if you change your mind."

"Give her a kiss for me. And tell Lyla I said thank you. Go, enjoy your family Digg."

It was hard to miss the wistfulness of Oliver's tone. But John wasn't going to push.

As the evening progressed, it turned out that Oliver was not the only restless soul in the city.

At around 7:00 Oliver heard steps being dragged slowly down the stairs.

It was Roy, looking rather worse for wear.

"You too?" Oliver asked. The younger man almost tripped over his own shoes.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

Roy hadn't realized he had company.

"Jeez Oliver, give a guy some warning; it would be the decent thing to do."

"I'm sorry man, bad move."

Roy nodded, giving him an almost half-smile

"What's got you so on edge?" Oliver asked, eying him closely.

Rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, Roy shrugged in response.

"Iunno man, just needed to let off steam. Can't deal with the club right now – all those people."

Oliver knew the feeling all too well. He wished it didn't burden the young man so.

"Have you eaten?" he said turning to Roy.

"Nah, wasn't up for it."

"How about we work out our aggressions on the mat for a bit and then we'll order pizza."

Oliver gauges his younger partner's reaction, "We'll both have worked up an appetite by the time I beat your ass."

"Sure thing, lead the way old man," Roy retorts.

**-/-**

Turned out that Roy had been training with Diggle – really training – he had no problem holding his own against Oliver, which made the older man very proud.

He made sure to tell Roy so.

The Pizza arrived slightly after 9 and to say that they devoured it would be an understatement.

But now it was close to 10 and Roy had just left, deciding to brave it out and go back to the club to see Thea.

It was then that Oliver heard the rampant clicking of heels and familiar whispered curses. Oliver was lying on his cot in the far corner, hidden from view. He very slowly got up and assumed a sitting position on the thin mattress, feet planted firmly on the floor.

_Did he stay hiding in the dark or did he come out and greet her?_

Felicity hurriedly made her way down the steps and made a beeline for her desk. She was in the middle of moving some papers around, searching for something apparently.

Oliver was contemplating his next move. _Was he up for this conversation?_

Her fingers were moving frantically, flipping through folders and turning over pages; she was clearly looking for something.

Had he not been watching carefully when she turned slightly to her left, he would have missed it altogether.

Something appeared to catch the light – sparkling brilliantly – with every movement of her hand. Something that – if he wasn't mistaken – was nestled onto the second last finger of her left hand.

It was round and remarkably well-cut – it had to be if it was catching the light and refracting it so.

_But it couldn't be…_

…_could it?_

A satisfied shriek and a "found it" later, it became clear that Felicity had come back for her phone.

She was in and out within minutes, never once stopping to look around.

Oliver had never been more thankful, had never been more grateful for his inaction.

That night was one of the longest – since the island.

And that, spoke volumes.

It wasn't until Monday that he heard the actual words and took a good look at, yes, the ring.

Ray Palmer was a good man.

Ray Palmer was a braver man.

_**Tbc…**_

I'm hoping to continue this, the next chapter will be set in the present again and may have flashbacks…not sure just yet. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to share your thoughts. Cheers


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note:

I had to split this up into two chapters – this is the first part. It serves as an establishing chapter (and is still pretty long). Things _really_ pick up in the next one. Writing a multi-chapter story is always nerve-wracking for me, but I think I have a good sense of where this is going. Hard times ahead, but it will work out in the end! Thanks for taking the time to read :)

**The Games We Play, the People We Lose**

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions ~Proverb_

Chapter Two

No one can accuse him of having insincere intentions.

But what use are _good_ intentions when there is no follow-through? When they result in everything going to hell?

He's _lucky_ if he gets a solid four hours a night.

He usually makes do with three – doesn't mind it, actually.

It's easier, in a way.

The things he sees, through eyes wide open, pale in comparison to the images that haunt him – plague his thoughts – when he happens to fall asleep.

The guilt with which he is constantly ridden manifests itself into dreams of the worst kind. Dreams so vivid, he wakes up, night after night in a pool of sweat, incessantly rubbing at his blood-soaked hands.

Sometimes, he is reliving a scene where he's forced to choose who he'll save – where rescuing both is never an option, because he must pick only one. In the end, he doesn't ever have enough time. He's simply left falling, only to wake up in anguish, contemplating his past actions and his inaction.

His inaction is the heaviest burden and he wears it like a mantle. It's what _really _eats away at him. Because it was fear and cowardice and self-preservation that led to his indecision – to his failure to commit.

Sometimes he just _won't _go to bed, to avoid the hassle of nightmares altogether. Tonight however, he _can't_ sleep.

As exhausted as he is, there's something gnawing at his insides. He's unable to describe it. It unsettles him because it's _different_. It's not just the sensations of residual remorse and self-reproach, but a feeling that everything is about to be turned on its head.

_Boy, he needs a drink. Something strong, something bitter that will burn._

_Either that, or somebody to take his mind off of all this – a leggy blonde or a tall brunette, someone who will just smile a pretty smile and say even less. _

But, even sex is only a temporary outlet. Besides, he regrets it almost immediately, every time. He tries to avoid it altogether and he's successful for the most part, but Oliver isn't a saint. He's a man.

If anything, he's a sinner.

In hindsight, it will be a good thing – that he's already awake – will help him move that much faster.

He's on push-up ninety-three when his phone goes off.

"Speedy? Everything okay?"

He checks his watch. It reads 3:07 am.

"Ollie, I didn't know if I should call. But then…she…oh God," she fumbles in between sobs to find the words.

"Thea, are you alright? Tell me," he prompts with an immediate urgency.

"What's wrong Thea? Thea? Where's Roy?"

Oliver hears shuffling and a soothing voice in the background.

"Hey, hey, come 'ere. I thought we decided not to call…yet."

He recognizes it as Roy's.

"He _needs_ to know."

"shh…'ts okay, gimme the phone, I'll talk to him."

_What is going on?_

He looks over to his computer set-up, there is no incessant beeping, no blaring red light – all should be quiet on the Starling city front.

_Should be, but clearly isn't._

"Hello," Roy's voice is scratchy through the line.

"What the hell is going on Roy?"

At the sound of his voice, Roy can't help but shudder. Oliver's own hair stands on end.

"_Why_ is my sister crying?"

"Oliver, Thea's fine. She just thought you'd want to know...jeez man, I'm sorry…something's happened," he lets out uneasily.

Roy inhales deeply before continuing. He _knows_ that nothing can prepare Oliver for his next words.

"It's Felicity. She was in an accident. They're saying it's serious."

He sees black before his vision starts to blur. Somewhere along the line, as Roy is mumbling words like "still alive" and "wait," Oliver disconnects the call.

**-/-**

For forty-five seconds, he doesn't know what to do. He can't move, his feet firmly rooted to the ground.

The computer pings, drawing his attention to Diggle's face at the bottom right corner of the screen. Oliver walks over and accepts the invitation.

"John, _what_ happened?" he attempts to regulate the tremor of his words.

"It was a car accident. A hit and run."

He continues, "Just after one this morning. She was alone."

"Oliver it's bad," John goes on, answering his friend's unasked question.

"I booked you the next flight out, forwarding the itinerary now. It's not direct, but it's the only one that'll get you hear before noon."

His phone goes off, notifying him of a new email.

He doesn't have much time; his flight leaves in an hour.

**-/-**

He steps off the plane and almost doesn't recognize his surroundings. Turns out John was serious about the airport's attempt to completely 'revamp'. The welcome sign is printed in a light blue – meant to comfort and soothe – it immediately unsettles his insides, however.

He's only been back _once_.

In the four years of his absence, Oliver has been back _only_ once.

Three years ago – that feel almost like thirty.

Six hours after _she_ was born. All rosy cheeks and chubby little limbs. Ten elegant fingers. Ten stubby toes.

There was no other word for it, she was _beautiful._

Up until three years ago, Oliver's heart had belonged to only one woman. A woman who was superior to him in every possible way – a woman whose light soothed his tattered soul.

But as he stood there watching through the glass – he couldn't help it – the little blue-eyed baby girl took his breath, and his heart away.

**-Begin Flashback-**

_He recognizes her almost immediately._

_She has her mother's eyes – perfectly round, wide and a calming shade of blue._

_As he's standing outside the nursery – once again looking from the outside in – Oliver realizes he gave up more than even he bargained for._

_He gave up a family. _

_His family._

_Their family._

_It's then that he notices the white label at the base of her little portable hospital crib. The pink calligraphy outlining the little girl's name._

_And that's when Oliver feels himself coming apart – his tough exterior shattering to pieces on the polished hospital floor._

_Years ago – they had both been under the influence of something pilfered from the Queen wine cellar – he let it slip that the first time he remembered truly experiencing loss was when his grandmother had passed._

"_I was 8 and she had meant the world. She had been my favourite person in the world – shown me so much love and affection.''_

_Felicity had taken his hand and began rubbing soothing circles with her thumb, said eyes meeting his. Oliver never wanted to let go._

_"Her name was Alison...Alison Queen."_

**-End Flashback-**

It's a shade past 11:30 as he makes his way through the terminal – moving towards the street exit – when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Oliver relaxes at the familiarity of the contact, the comfort of its weight.

"John," he says before turning.

"Didn't think I was going to leave you to your own devices, did you?"

He raises an eyebrow before adding good-naturedly, "I _am _your black driver after all."

Oliver smiles genuinely and extends his hand.

But John's having none of that. He pulls the younger man into a hug.

"It's been too long brother. Too long."

The words are muffled by the leather of his jacket, but Oliver has no trouble hearing them.

**-/-**

Once in the car, Diggle immediately gives him a quick overview of Felicity's condition.

"She's stable but critical; she's scheduled for surgery in a bit."

To which Oliver says nothing.

"The doctors are optimistic."

He looks over at his younger friend who continues to look out the passenger window, the prominent vein at his temple pulsing.

And then, completely ignoring Oliver's protestations, John doesn't drive to the hospital, but heads home instead.

Neither of them brings up Palmar, avoiding him altogether, but only delaying the inevitable.

The Diggle house is strangely empty and quiet – with Lya at work and Sarah at school – but it's still the same. Still emanates a sense of _home. _John shows him to the guestroom. He points in the direction of the bathroom, "Go take a shower, freshen up and then we can head out."

"Oh and I've already laid out your towels on the rack," he adds.

Oliver simply nods and then goes to say something, but John silences him with a reciprocated nod and a squeeze of his shoulder.

**-/-**

Starling City Memorial is busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Everyone is moving about with purpose, patients and staff alike. For some reason, Oliver feels Diggle and himself stick out almost instantly.

He waits off to the side as Diggle speaks to the nurse, inquiring about Felicity's condition.

"Mr. Diggle, she was taken into surgery just over an hour ago. The procedure will be another 5 or 6 hours."

The same nurse then shows them to a waiting area with big monitors on the wall.

"This is her, here." She's pointing to an 8-digit code, next to which, red letters are flashing: IN PROCEDURE.

"When it's done, the red will turn to green and it will say: POST-OP," she continues, watching both men intently.

"Then, shortly after, someone should be in to speak with the family."

John places a kind hand at her elbow, "Thank you Carrie, it's much appreciated."

The two men forgo the family waiting room – which already contains a few people – and turn the corner to find a row of chairs against the wall.

Time passes and nothing happens. They sit in silence, lost in their respective thoughts. John occasionally checks the screen in the waiting room – no change. Later, he takes a call. He comes back and says that he needs to step out for a few minutes. Oliver looks up and nods.

(He's been doing that a lot lately.)

Something's been troubling him since he found out, eating away at him.

_Why was she alone? Walking around in the middle of the night?_

_Of all people, Ray Palmar should have known better than to let her go off alone._

_The streets of Starling – regardless of evening patrols – were no place for a young woman to be travelling alone, so late in the night._

Oliver makes his way to the doorway of the waiting area and sneaks a glance at the monitor – still red. He hears voices, but doesn't see anyone. He begins walking back to his seat, when the little girl's voice gets louder.

"Daddy, when's mommy coming home? Huh daddy, when? I miss her."

"I know sweetheart, I miss her too. But the doctors here are looking after mommy. They're going to make her good as new, so we can take her home," comes the father's reply. His voice is tired and weary.

"Really daddy, so we can take her home?" came an excited squeal.

"Yeah, munchkin, so we can take her home."

They're silent for a moment and then the child speaks.

"Daddy, mommy provlly misses her comfuters lots, right daddy?"

Oliver can't help the small smile that escapes his lips.

"Not as much as she's missing you," the man answers with what must be a tickle because the child bursts into giggles.

"And you too daddy, mommy wuvs you too. She tol' me."

"Sweetheart, how about some ice cream while we wait, we'll go to the park?"

"Yay! Ice cream!"

Oliver hears footsteps racing to the door.

"Hey, wait for daddy, no running if you want ice cream," her father lets out as he gathers their things.

But the little girl's out of the room and almost runs into Diggle, who is making his way back down the corridor.

"Uncle John!" she yells and runs into his open arms.

And then it hits Oliver.

(It may have even hit him earlier, but denial is a powerful monster.)

"Alison, baby, what are you doing without your dad?"

(Seeing – _hearing – _is believing.)

John's eyes meet Oliver's over her dirty blonde ponytail.

Oliver is thankful that he's right at the corner because in the next ten seconds Ray Palmar walks out of the room and makes his way to where his daughter is nestled in John's arms.

Oliver turns the corner and begins walking.

Until the voices become whispers.

He keeps walking, taking rights and making lefts.

Until he can no longer hear them.

But that's when they become the voices in his head.

He ends up in the men's room, dry heaving in the sink.

**TBC**

Yay! You made it! Thanks for reading. Any thoughts?


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